


Split Ends

by BottleBlonde



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Issues, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, References to Depression, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16176986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottleBlonde/pseuds/BottleBlonde
Summary: “Mr. Gallant I presume? I believe I booked an appointment with you.”Gallant felt a sudden sense of unease he couldn’t exactly pinpoint. The guy was, to say the least, beautiful. "Yeah, come on over. What’s it gonna be?”"Just a trim, nothing fancy."OR[How a hairstylist earned his spot in the Antichrist's doomsday bunker]





	1. Temptation

_**Los Angeles, 2018** _

 

Morning appointments were the worst, the client profile round that time frame were either obnoxious white collars with a superiority complex or old, Republican bitches with one foot in the grave.  
  
“Gallant, prep your station up! I can cover up most of your slip-ups but you fuck this one up and you’re a goner,” Gina, the salon manager, insisted. “Don’t forget one of our most important patrons, for whatever reason, booked you.”  
  
The hair stylist rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Sure, I’ll get to it as soon as my nail polish drys.”  
  
“Gallant I’m serious, you screw this one up and it’s over,” Gina warned him as he blew his nails, completely unfazed. “I can’t stick my neck out for you anymore. Dorian’s been looking for any excuse to get rid of you and it’s like you’re handing it to him on a silver platter…”  
  
“Jesus, Gina relax! The salon’s empty, I was planning on using Cassidy’s station anyways. Can you please step off my dick for once?” The stylist exclaimed. “Also fyi, we’re out of Carmel Climax nail polish.”  
  
The salon manager groaned, “Just like Tangerine Bukkake last week and Ravish Me Red the week prior, both your fault by the way.”  
  
Gallant gave her the most obvious fake smile.  
  
“You’re lucky you’re pretty, where I’m from people get shot for being smartasses,” Gina replied, getting her handbag ready. “Do you know if any Sephora’s open around this time? I’ll go restock on nail polish before people wake up and traffic’s a nightmare.”  
  
“Nope,” The hair stylist replied swiftly. “Google Maps is your friend though.”  
  
_**Sloth**_  
  
Gina walked towards him and placed the salon’s keys on his hands. “If your appointment gets here before I do just stick to what he asks, don’t charge him he already made a deposit. Lastly, and for the love of god, don’t pull any dumb shit while I’m gone. Remember, I know where you live.”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of trust, love you too Ginny,” he replied back as his manager walked out of the venue. “Bitch.”  
  
As time went by the temptation to take a small nap while waiting for whomever the pompous asshole who booked him at fucking 7 a.m. grew stronger. The hair stylist looked at the time, 7:15. It was salon policy to cancel appointments after a twenty minute delay.  
  
“Important patron my ass…” Gallant whispered to himself.  
  
Although the idea of waking up earlier than expected just for his appointment to be canceled due to tardiness pissed him off, there was a certain bliss in not having to deal with whatever kind of mess someone gassed up to be as intimidating as Gina made the client sound.  
  
His train of thought got cut short by the sound of the door opening. The stylist quickly got up to face an unfamiliar figure.  
  
“Mr. Gallant I presume?” The man asked, the hair stylist nodded dumfounded. “I believe I booked an appointment with you.”  
  
Gallant felt a sudden sense of unease he couldn’t exactly pinpoint. The guy was, to say the least, beautiful. Piercing blue eyes, perfect skin and the most perfect head of hair he’d seen in all his years of hairdressing. Yet his angelic appearance wasn’t enough to keep the looming sense of dread he felt while on his presence.  
  
“Y-yeah, come on over,” the stylist stuttered while trying to keep it together. “You kinda caught me off-guard there.” The man walked over towards the stylist’s station and took a seat. “So what’s it gonna be?”  
  
“Just a trim,” the client replied. “Nothing fancy.”  
  
_For real? An early morning fucking appointment just for a damn trim?_ Gallant felt like strangling the guy. The smug grin plastered on his face didn’t help the hair stylist case to no just bash his head in with a blowdryer.  
  
_**Wrath**_  
  
“Okey dokey, let me just see what we’re working with here.” Gallant said, regaining his composure. He ran a comb through the guy’s golden tresses. Calling it magnificent would have been an understatement, it was as if cashmere and silk was growing out of the man’s scalp. The softness was only rivalled by the sheen and thickness of it all, more impressive though was the fact that he couldn’t detect a single sign of damage thought the guy’s long mane.  
  
“Not to sound like a kiss-ass but your hair’s actual perfection,” Gallant insisted. “There’s not a single split end thought it. It’s so…”  
  
He couldn’t help but compare his client’s perfect tresses to the bleach blonde mess that was his own. One too many dye jobs fried his once enviable hair to an almost irreparable state, heck one could even say his hair was a metaphor for how his own life had gone down the gutter recently.  
  
His eyes caught a glimpse of the clippers close by, the almost savage impulse to grab them and have at it with his client’s hair was dangerously tempting. The idea of having the power to destroy something so beautiful excited him.  
  
_**Envy**_  
  
“Something on your mind?” His client asked.  
  
Gallant decided to go through with it, worst case scenario the guy declined and he’d still get paid for the trim.  
  
“I know you said you didn’t want anything too drastic but hear me out, the whole long hair, man bun type look is so twenty-fifteen,” he proceeded to cover his client with the styling cape. “I feel like something more… daring would suit you.”  
  
“I’m listening.” The client replied back. Although Gallant tried his best to keep the power dynamic on his end, there was something about the guy that just commanded the room.  
  
The stylist grabbed the heavy duty clippers and turned them on. The roaring sound of the moving blades filled the salon. “I guess it depends on how short you’re willing to go.”  
  
The patron almost chuckled at the hairdresser’s bravado. “Are you challenging me Mr. Gallant?”  
  
“It’s only a challenge if you’re up for it,” the stylist replied. “I wouldn’t blame you for chickening out, although you don’t seem like the type to do so.”  
  
His client shook his head in amusement. “You’re awfully confident in your assumptions.”  
  
“I don’t wanna brag but I feel like I’ve earned the right to be a bit cocky,” Gallant began. “Ever heard of Tristan Duffy? He was the ‘it’ boy of the modelling world for a couple years before falling off the spotlight. Make a wild guess on who styled him before he became a nobody.”  
  
_**Pride**_  
  
“Well colour me impressed,” the patron replied, a hint of sarcasm present through his words. “So why’s a so-called stylist to the stars doing working at a… let’s call it ‘high-end’, salon in Los Angeles.”  
  
The question was like a sucker punch to his ego in a way that almost felt physical. Despite the masquerade he was trying to keep up, the guy was right; Gallant was a shadow of his former self. The only reason he still had a job at Dorian’s was because his nana pulled enough strings to keep his ass employed for a while longer.  
  
“Touché…” Gallant retorted, the confidence in his tone now gone. “You’re stuck with me though so let’s make the most out of it.” The hair stylist passed the comb one last time through the man’s hair. “So are we doing this or…?”  
  
“It’s your call, I trust your judgement.”  
  
The hairdresser eyed the clippers once more. He pretty much had free reign to do whatever he deemed proper yet there was something restraining him. _Great time to get a moral compass asshole._  
  
“I think I didn’t catch your name love,” Gallant added. “Might as well know who’s hair I’m about to hack off before getting sued for irreparable damages.”  
  
The man chuckled. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, monetarily at least. I’d rather any charges be paid symbolically rather than economically.”  
  
The sultry tone on his client’s voice caught the stylist off-guard yet again. “Symbolically?”  
  
“You’ll strip me of a piece of me,” He began, his eyes meeting Gallant’s through the station’s mirror. “I’d say it’s only fair for me to keep a part of you.”  
  
The hairstylist’s lips couldn’t help but curl at the man’s alluring suggestion. _Oh, he’s good._  
  
“As for a name,” he finally replied. “I’d rather keep formalities out of this, call me Michael.”  
  
Gallant arched an eyebrow excitedly. “Like the archangel? Fitting.” Although quick, the stylist managed to catch a glimpse of unease from his client that immediately killed the whole mood they had built. “Sorry…too far?”  
  
“No it’s just I didn’t take you for the religious type,” Michael replied. “You know what they say, religion’s one of the three things one should avoid talking about.”  
  
“Oh no, don’t get me wrong I totally agree with you. I wouldn’t even consider myself religious at all, I actually hate the whole structure of it all. It’s pretty much a way of fooling morons into joining a cult-” Gallant blabbered, he stopped once he noticed Michael’s eyes yet again fixed on his through the mirror in front of them. “I’m sorry, it’s just… my nana had me going to bible camp as soon as my balls dropped. Guess she really fell for all that ‘pray the gay away’ bullshit they tried to shove down people’s throats during the nineties.”  
  
“Don’t get the wrong idea, I do posses a set of beliefs some would consider religious,” Michael began as the hairstylist stared at his client perplexed. “I’m just always taken aback by people’s use of religious figures as complementary standpoints.”  
  
“Oh… yeah I get what you mean. I guess it’s just a habit of mine, nana used to call me her ‘beautiful angel’ all the time when I was a kid. I suppose the word stuck with me ever since.” Gallant replied ashamed.  
  
Michael yet again locked eyes with the stylist, Gallant remained amused at how just simple eye contact with the guy could send an electric rush down his spine. “No need to feel bad about it, it’s endearing hearing about your relationship with your grandmother. Makes me long for the brief time I spent with mine.”  
  
The memories came rushing through Mr. Gallant’s head. Sure, the first couple years with nana Evie were some of his happiest memories but just like everything else in his life it quickly went to shit. “To be completely honest I’m sugar coating some parts of it. Lately the few conversations we manage to have revolve around my ‘deranged habits’ and how I’ll probably never bag a ‘decent man’, whatever that means, at my age.”  
  
“At your age?” Michael asked almost offended. “Pardon my impertinence but you’re far from being what anyone would consider old.”  
  
Gallant gave him a defeated yet honest smile. “I appreciate the self-esteem boost but even I know I’m way past my prime. In a way I blame L.A., this is the only city in the world where turning twenty-five is the equivalent of kissing your youth goodbye. Imagine what turning the big three-oh meant, especially in the gay scene. I’m pretty much a fossil, especially with all the new baby twinks arriving here thinking they’ll someday become the next big thing. I find solace in knowing that one they they’ll wake up realising they’re as old as the rest of us and all that’s left are shattered dreams and anal prolapse.”  
  
Michael gave the stylist his trademark smirk he’d become quickly costumed to. “Guess they weren’t wrong when they said pessimists are always right.” Gallant scoffed at the retort. “But there’s one thing you’re mistaken about and I think your grandmother’s to blame.”  
  
“Story of my fucking life,” The stylist replied back. “I’ll remember to tell my shrink to add that charge to my ever growing therapy bill.”  
  
“If you’re so unhappy with her why don’t you just get away?” Michael asked. Gallant huffed at the question.  
  
“If only it where that simple,” He began while examining his styling equipment. “The one thing that’s keeping me from strangling the bitch is that once she’s gone ‘due to natural causes’ according to the will, I’ll be inheriting every singe dime that old bat owns. I don’t wanna brag but it’ll be a pretty penny.”  
  
_**Greed**_  
  
“You’ve got a beautiful soul,” Michael added unexpectedly. “It would be a real waste to just have some one else constantly berating you for it.”  
  
“I’ll tell you what,” Gallant began as he made his way towards the scissors. “I’ll sell you my soul if you manage to get rid of my nana.”  
  
Michael’s laugh sent a shiver down the stylist’s spine but unlike the electrifying feeling he felt when locking eyes with him this felt… perverse.  
  
“I’ll take your word on that.” He finally replied towards the hairdresser.  
  
Gallant grabbed a hold of the ends of Michael’s locks. As he grabbed enough to cut a small amount to atone for the long overdue trim his client had originally asked him for, Michael’s voice stopped him.  
  
“Hold up,” his voice commanded. For a flash of a second Gallant could have sworn he saw the hair clippers fly towards Michael’s lifted hand. “I thought we were actually going through with your makeover suggestion.”  
  
The hairstylist struggled. On one hand he had to power to do whatever he wanted with the guy but after the pseudo armchair therapy session they just had he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d feel bad for taking advantage of the situation.  
  
“I’m having second thoughts…” Gallant began. Michael remained dead serious judging by the almost demanding way he held the clippers in his hand.  
  
“Don’t, just do as I say.” Michael commanded. Gallant felt like asking him to leave, he’d be the first to admit that shaving the guys head was nothing but a petty way to make himself feel better about his own situation at the expense of someone else but at this point he couldn’t bare following through.  
  
“Seriously man, I don’t think you need-“  
  
Michael turned on the clippers, the buzzing sound took over. “I know, but this isn’t about me. You don’t need this release, you want it.”  
  
Gallant, almost entranced by the words slowly reached for the clippers. Guilt still lingering through his body yet the words coming from Michael ringed true, he need it yet he yearned for it.  
  
“I’m sorry…” The stylist warned as he took a hold of the clippers. The look of complete satisfaction on his client’s face made the whole situation a whole lot more unsettling.  
  
“Don’t be,” Michael assured him. “Sometimes we all just need to splurge.”  
  
Unlike the previous coercion-like induced motion Gallant made while grabbing the clippers, the swipe he took straight down the middle of Michael’s golden tresses felt completely voluntary, almost relieving and extremely satisfying.  
  
_**Gluttony**_  
  
The silken locks of gold fell exponentially with every passing of the clippers. With each swipe Gallant felt a savage impulse to continue until there wasn’t any trace of the man’s glorious mane.  
  
In a manner of minutes, the floor below was covered in mounds of blonde perfection. After a couple more passes of the bare bladed clippers, Gallant turned the device of destruction off. The sudden silence was almost as distracting as the sight in front of the hairdresser’s sight.  
  
He’d been too distracted by his almost animal way of disposing the man of his enviable hair that he didn’t really kept track of the result, which left the stylist feeling more shocked than guilty. The clippers did as good a job as they could of uniformly shearing the man’s head leaving nothing but barely distinguishable blonde stubble but what really caught Gallant’s attention was how, even without his unreal mane, Michael remained as beautiful as ever. The fact that his face was now at full display just added more to his already, political correctness be damned, angelic features.  
  
Michael looked at both his reflection and Gallant’s awe-stricken face in triumph. “What do you think?”  
  
Gallant unfastened the styling cape off the man’s neck. He couldn’t fathom words, it was a mixture of amazement and regret; like that of a kid getting caught after eating too many candies.  
  
“I…” Gallant began, Michael slowly got up from the chair brushing off any remaining hairs from his dark red blazer before turning face to face with the hairstylist. “I think you’re perfect.”  
  
Michael chuckled. “Funny… I think that too.”  
  
Gallant felt the need walk away from the man but something keep him from moving. Michael slowly approached the petrified hairdresser, like a tiger toying with his pray.  
  
“While I appreciate the new look,” Michael began, running a hand through his newly shaved head. “I recall I mentioned wanting something from you in return.”  
  
The hairstylist felt his face grow cold as soon as Michael stood uncomfortable close to him. His client ran a wicked hand through his cheek. Gallant’s body couldn’t help but fluster at the sudden contact.  
  
“You like that, don’t you?” Michael asked teasingly. “How long has it been, huh? How long have you gone without any type of meaningful contact?”  
  
Gallant felt his mouth loosen up, he tried to formulate words but his thought process got halted by Michael’s soft caress, this time through the stylist’s rosy lips. Gallant felt like crying, it had been year since he felt actual comfort form another human being’s presence, let alone a man. Although Michael emitted an energy of danger and dread, there was also an addictive comfort in his touch. He not only felt safe, he knew that once he’d stop the looming fear of solitude and anxiety he’d gotten so accustom to by after so many years of neglect would come back hitting him like a speeding vehicle.  
  
“Please don’t leave me…” Gallant finally mustered to reply. “I need you.”  
  
Michael grinned. “Do you?”  
  
The stylist nodded. Michael continued to circle the stylist’s petrified frame, slowly but surely brushing his hand through the other man’s body. Gallant’s breath grew heavier as Michael’s hands trailed lower through his body.  
  
“That’s a nice leather jacket you’re wearing,” Michael remarked. “Quite the fashion statement considering the hellish weather we’ve had recently. Is that something that excites you? Leather?”  
  
The hairdresser nodded. Michael smirked and stopped right in front of him, slowly unzipping the jacket before taking it off the man’s body. Underneath it only a black, loose fitting tank top that left little to the imagination remained.  
  
“Quite a bit of skin to work with…” Michael began before running his hand through his exposed arm. The sudden cold touch sent shivers through his body. Gallant turned to see a leather glove covering Michaels palm. _Was he wearing that already?_  
  
A full round and the tempting man stood in front of the stylist once more, he proceeded to run his hand underneath Gallant’s top a couple times. The hairdresser began to slightly moan which quickly turned into groaning as Michael swiped a slow yet effective scratch down the man’s chest. The mixture of pleasure and pain exhilarated him almost immediately and it began to show between his legs.  
  
“Well look at that, someone’s excited.” Michael mocked him. Gallant cheeks blushed as Michael switched his attention from his chest to his ever expanding crotch. He softly rubbed his hand on the forming bulge in his pants. The hairdresser began panting heavily at the touch which quickly turned into loud moans as Michael began squeezing. “I never got skinny jeans… you’ve barely got breathing room down there.”  
  
Michael proceeded to unzip the man’s pants. Gallant moaned even louder as soon as his client began stroking his throbbing cock, this time without any barriers. “Well… it looks like I’m not the only monster in the room.”  
  
**_Lust_**  
  
“You’ve done it.” Michael replied, his voice gaining an unnatural tone. “You’re a perfect candidate.”  
  
Tears began rolling down Gallant’s face. The mixture of sexual release from Michael jerking him off exhilarated him, there was a looming feeling of impotence in his petrified state. He wanted to reciprocate Michael’s advances yet he felt how it was just a matter of seconds before he-  
  
“Aw, look at that. You made a mess all over my hand.” Michael said, a tone of irony on his now regular sounding voice. He proceeded to lift the cum covered hand towards Gallant before whipping it clean on his face. “I was hoping you’d in this for the long run, guess that’ll have to do for now.”  
  
The stylist body suddenly felt heavy again, tumbling down to the floor once Michael took a couple steps away. Gallant felt once again control over his body. “Wait, please...”  
  
“For what exactly?” Michael asked, his voice felt like a shot straight through the hairdresser’s spirit.  
  
“I need you, please don't leave me!” Gallant begged.  
  
“And that’s exactly the problem, I don’t need you anymore. At least for now.” Michael retorted. If heartbreak could be audible the sound would have boomed through the salon, Gallant settled for an overflow of tears. “That’s way too much emotion for a hand job.”  
  
“Please…” The stylist begged before grabbing a hold of Michael’s leg. The patron proceeded to yank his leg off Gallant’s hold.  
  
“You’re pathetic.” Michael replied. The broken man below him was finally reduced to a weeping mess. He rolled his eyes at the hairdresser’s misfortune before approaching him one last time. “Alright, just to prove you that I’m not the devil I’ll give you one last thing.”  
  
Gallant managed to keep his emotions in check if it meant one last contact with the man. “Anything…”  
  
“Get up,” Michael commanded, the stylist did as he was told. “We’ll see each other sooner than you expect, I can’t tell you the time or the day but it will happen so savor this for the time being… at least for the mere seconds you’ll have some memory of it.”  
  
The gap between Michael and Gallant came to an end in a single, brief yet warm lip-lock. The stylist closed his eyes to take as much as he could in. The heat on his mouth rose to infernal levels yet felt completely capable of handling the burn. After that, nothing but bliss followed. Just a brief moment of total peace.

* * *

  
“GALLANT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!” Gina’s voice rang through his head and got him to wake up in a sudden jolt. A styling cape was sent flying his way. “Cover up you pervert!”  
  
Mr. Gallant realized he’d been jerking himself off for god knows how long in the empty salon. He looked at the clock, 7:30 a.m. and there were no signs of his early morning appointment.  
  
“God, you’re so fucking lucky Mr. Phillips canceled his appointment before he got here and saw you fucking jacking off during work hours.” Gina continued as she got the newly bought nail polishes into the salon’s storage room.  
  
“I… what the hell happened?” Gallant asked with innocent sincerity.  
  
“You tell me, last thing I expected was walking into you cry-wanking in a styling station.” The manager replied. “Which by the way is kinda sad.”  
  
“Can you please lower your damn voice! Last thing I need is whole fucking WeHo knowing you caught me red handed.” Gallant insisted. _I swear, if the world ended today I’d not only thank god but Jesus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda ended up hating this but I had already started it so I figured I might as well finish it. We need more of these two thought, don't let my subpar attempt discourage you! Also comments would be nice or whatever.


	2. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based heavily on details given to us on S8x04 "Could It Be... Satan?", mostly because I fell for young, pre-evil Michael. Also Mr. Gallant's still dead and I won't have none of that.

**_Outpost 3, 2021_**  
  
“Can some one please remind me why we’re doing this again?” Madison asked while both her and Coco carried the corpse into Cordelia’s vicinity. “Had it kill you to at least let us use telekinesis to drag his ass in here?”  
  
“Actually it would,” Cordelia replied dryly. “The more magic we use the higher the chances Langdon might have to detect us.”  
  
Madison rolled her eyes as both witches continued pulling Mr. Gallant’s body towards the Supreme. “Not to be that person but last time we got men involved into all this the fucking apocalypse happened, literally.”  
  
“We need as much help as we can get, Madison.” Cordelia answered back. “We can’t take the risk of not knowing whatever he knows about our enemy.”  
  
“Plus you guys will totally love him,” Coco added while helping Madison carry the body. “We’ve done matching Halloween costumes since 2016 and he’s great at charades.”  
  
“He’s emotionally inept and extremely unstable,” Dinah snapped from a distance. “I wouldn’t put it past him to switch on you just like he did his grandmother.”  
  
“It was just a matter of time before someone did that anyways.” Mallory insisted. “But she’s right, he’s kind of an asshole.”  
  
Coco glared at her former assistant. “You’re just saying that because your bitter ass got stuck with that knockoff Dr. Seuss-creature-looking hairstyle.”  
  
“Girls that’s enough squabbling,” Myrtle began. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry than the atrocities adorning both of your heads.”  
  
Cordelia approached the corpse as the two blonde witches laid the body in front of her. “Before taking any risks I’ll have to scan his memories. I need you all to sustain the cloaking charm for me while the psychometry goes through.”  
  
“I can guarantee he’ll be worth it!” Coco insisted with a hint of joy at the prospect of her friend being brought back.  
  
Madison rolled her eyes once more. “If it isn't I suppose we can still use him as a meat shield.”  
  
Every witch in the room proceeded to concentrate their energy into a single collective cloaking charm. Cordelia kneeled and placed both her palms on opposite sides of Gallant’s head.  
  
Cordelia closed her eyes as she began the process of psychometry. “Please show me what we need.”

* * *

 

  
**_Los Angeles, 2015_**  
  
“I’m telling you, she’s in over her head if she really thinks I’m covering her shift tomorrow morning.” Gallant hollered towards his phone, the loud club music almost muffling his voice. “Well, dumb bitch should have thought about that before applying for a job at high-end salon in Rodeo Drive!”  
  
He hung up before returning his attention at the younger man grinding his body against his, the shit eating grin on the boys face almost taking Gallant aback.  
  
“Is there something on my face?” Gallant asked being as suave as possible.  
  
“High-end salon in Rodeo Drive, huh?” The younger guy wrapped his arms around Mr. Gallant’s waist. “No wonder I got serious power top vibes from you.”  
  
“You’re new ‘round here aren’t ya?” Gallant began while wrapping his arms around the boy’s neck. The younger man proceeded to steal a kiss out of the hairstylist.  
  
“Maybe so, why?” He asked defiantly.  
  
The boy’s cockiness made Gallant chuckle. “I’ll give you a heads up, in this city we’re all bottoms.” He added before planting his lips over the younger boy’s while simultaneously groping the guy’s butt. “But for an ass like yours I’m willing to make an exception.”  
  
Both men continued to aggressively make-out while the loud music in the club filled the scene. It would have all been perfect had it not been for the ever inconvenient phone call interrupting them from continuing. The hairdresser took out his cellphone to be greeted by his grandmother’s caller ID.  
  
Gallant huffed in annoyance. “Could you give me a few seconds, I really gotta take this.”  
  
“Sure…” The guy replied back, audibly as annoyed as the stylist.  
  
The hairdresser walked out the club as quickly as possible before picking up the phone, unlike his co-workers she’d have a an even harder time making out his voice with the electro-pop music blasting in the background.  
  
“What?” Gallant asked after picking up.  
  
“Is that any way to answer the phone, dear? I thought I raised a gentleman, not a farmer.” Evie Gallant’s voice replied from the other end.  
  
The hairdresser rolled his eyes. “What’s the matter Nana, I’m kinda busy right now.”  
  
“Busy? I’m sorry dear but whatever it is that you do at those degenerate raves you go out to every night would barely count as something worth being ‘busy’ over.” She replied.  
  
“I’m one smartass comment away from hanging up on you,” Mr. Gallant warned. “So you better make the most of it.”  
  
“Look darling, I’m just calling to let you know that I had to leave last minute for a business venture that turned up last minute in New York,” Evie explained, the stylist’s back tensed at the thought.  
  
“Nana I’m twenty-six, I very well know what those ‘business ventures' of yours consist off.” He replied, annoyed.  
  
He managed to catch one of his grandma’s signature scoffs. “Don’t be crude, it’s for Liza’s hip surgery. We’ll be throwing her a party at the Plaza wishing her a speedy recovery.”  
  
Gallant searched through his pockets, while doing so he noticed his house keys weren’t anywhere to be found. “… shit.”  
  
“Sweetheart I swear to god, I can deal with the whole… homosexuality thing, but if you keep cursing like a truck driver I’ll have my lawyers write you off the will.” Evie threatened.  
  
“I’m sorry Nana,” the stylist replied while double checking his pockets. “It’s just that I think I forgot my house keys…”  
  
An uncomfortable pause took place for what felt like minutes before Evie finally broke the silence. “Well that’s too bad, dear. We’re about to take off so I’ll have to hang up soon but I’m sure you’ll be able to manage. After all, you said it yourself, you’re twenty-six now.”  
  
Before he could plead back, his grandmother hung up on him.  
  
Gallant stomped his feet in frustration. He turned his head towards the club, he could easily go back and seal the deal with the twink he’d lured a couple minutes earlier and ask him to let him stay the night but knowing how things worked in the L.A. gay scene some other asshole probably bagged him while the stylist was gone.  
  
“Fuck it.” The hairdresser said to himself before turning the other way. It was too much of a risk, plus he knew of a motel some streets away that could probably take him in.  
  
The L.A. streets while lit up fairly well during late hours where also a mixed bag of drunken tourists, coked up hookers and the eventual mugger, all of those an inconvenience Gallant wasn’t willing to partake with.  
  
As he continued making his way through the city of angels, the nightly weather began to make it’s presence known. Sure, loose tank tops and skintight jeans were useful inside the heat of a club but the chilly night wind of the city wasn’t being as forgiving to the stylist’s skimpy attire.  
  
While mostly on the liberal side, L.A. still had it’s fair share of bigoted assholes running around so, specially around late night hours, walking alone looking like the poster boy for gay men’s wear wasn’t the safest of choices. While strolling down the boulevard the hairdresser noticed he’d already garnered a couple unfriendly looks his way. Last thing he wanted was to become the next Matthew Shepard.  
  
“Hey princess, need a ride?” A passerby, possibly a crackhead, hollered. Gallant ignored the comment and sped up his pace.  
  
The stylist continued his way through the streets, it was just a few blocks to get to the motel. His feet where starting to ache but he kept his pace going. He’d reached his destination sooner had it not been for a sudden distraction.  
  
While walking by a dead end alley, the sound of sobbing caught his attention. He knew it would have been best to ignore it but there was something so genuine about it that managed to lure him in.  
  
As he entered the alley he noticed a boy sitting on the ground next to the dumpsters. Were it not for the messy mop of golden curls on his head, he’d have a harder time making him out in the dark alleyway as he was wearing all black clothes. He had his arms wrapped around his legs while his face rested against his knees as he continued weeping softly.  
  
“Are you alright?” Gallant asked prematurely. Odds were that he was probably some junky trying to bait him but for some reason he was entranced by the guy.  
  
The crying stopped for a second as the boy raised his head to meet the stylist’s eyes. Even in the dark Gallant could tell he was beautiful, those baby blue eyes mesmerised the hairdresser into an almost hypnotic state. Gallant finally snapped out of it as soon as he detected the horror in the boy’s face.  
  
“Please don’t hurt me!” The boy pleaded, the scared tremble in his voice made the stylist feel guilty even though he’d done nothing.  
  
“Hey take it easy,” Gallant replied reassuringly. “I’m not here to hurt you, is everything okay?”  
  
The boy shook his head, Gallant realised how dumb a question that was. _Of course it’s not okay moron, otherwise he wouldn’t be crying in an alley._  
  
“Okay let me rephrase that,” the hairstylist began. “Are you hurt?”  
  
The boy took a while to answer back, Gallant took the pause to analyse him a bit further. His alabaster skin made his luscious, rosy lips pop as much as his eyes and although he appeared just a merely two or so years younger than the hairdresser, his frightened demeanour made his appear even younger though.  
  
“Yes…” He replied, almost ashamed. Gallant managed to take a closer look at the other side of his face. There where a couple minor bruises near his cheek, a major one by his eye and the upper part of his lip was busted. The thought that someone had the nerve to hurt someone so beautiful yet helpless infuriated him, it was like kicking a puppy.  
  
“Who did this to you?” The stylist asked. The boy seemed hesitant to answer but tension seemed to fade once Gallant took a seat right next to him.  
  
“Some cops,” The blonde boy answered shyly. “They think I did something that I didn’t do and-” He chocked on his words as tears began rolling down his face, audible sobs escaped him. “They took her in and it’s all my fault…”  
  
Gallant wouldn't consider himself an especially empathetic person but the sincere emotions radiating from the guy got to him, he was obviously troubled. He wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and patted him gently. “It’s okay, let it all out.”  
  
The boy rested his head on Gallant’s shoulder as the waterworks continued. Gallant took a second to take a look at the situation; what began as a regular night-out at the club ended up with him sitting in a dimly lit alley serving the purpose of a literal shoulder to cry on for a person he’d never met before. _Life really works in mysterious ways._  
  
“The whole law enforcement system in this country is fucked up,” the stylist began. The younger man raised his head towards him, Gallant gently whipped a tear off the boy’s face. “But crying in an alley will only do so much.”  
  
“I have nowhere to go…” The boy replied.  
  
Gallant sighed, he planned to spend the rest of the night on his own at whatever seedy motel he could find that still had vacancy but he knew his conscience wouldn’t let him sleep if the let the poor guy spend the rest of the night moping on a filthy alley.  
  
“I know a motel close by that’ll probably take us in,” the hairstylist said. “It’s not the best but it’s better than sleeping next to a dumpster out in the open.” The boy nodded. “Come on then, we’ve got a couple blocks to go.”  
  
The hairdresser got up and offered the guy a hand, the frightened young man looked at him with reluctance. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Truth be told I don’t really know why myself,” Gallant admitted. “I guess I can relate a bit to being dropped on the street with nowhere to go, long story short my parents weren’t too impressed when the school councillor told them their son was a big ole’ faggot.”  
  
“Are you homeless?” The boy asked innocently.  
  
Gallant took slight offence at the question. “Girl… these shoes are Gucci. Get outta here with that nonsense.”  
  
The young man took the stylist’s hand and got up on his feet. He was taller than what Gallant expected and with a well endowed silhouette to boot.  
  
“Well hello handsome…,” Gallant said almost immediately, the boy blushed and smiled awkwardly. “Okay, sorry about that. I mean you’re cute and all but I’m not doing this with those type of intentions, I mean unless you want to of course but, like, no pressure.”  
  
The boy gave him the first honest smile since they met, the stylist couldn’t help but reciprocate at the gesture. “You’re a good person, I can tell.”  
  
“Not really,” Gallant modestly insisted. “Consider this my one good deed of the year.” Both men made their way out the alley. “By the way, I don’t think I got your name.” The boy looked at him with slight worry. “Don’t worry, I’m not telling anyone.”  
  
“Michael…” The younger man answered meekly.  
  
————  
  
Gallant entered the motel room with a plastic bag full of gauze, rubbing alcohol and other drug store purchases. “The pharmacy down the street was kinda useless but I managed to get what we needed.”  
  
“You really don’t have to do this, you’ve already done so much for me.” Michael shyly replied.  
  
“I know, that’s what makes me so nice,” the stylist retorted. “Okay, now this will probably sting like hell for a second but be strong for me.”  
  
Gallant took an alcohol dipped cotton swab and place it over Michael’s busted lip. The boy winced in pain but the hairdresser didn’t falter. After a while Michael’s body relaxed until the stylist took the swab off his mouth.  
  
“There, between that and the shower you just took that should keep it as clean as possible,” the stylist reassured him. “Now take your shirt off, we need to gauze any bumps and bruises.”  
  
Michael did as he was told. Gallant was both impressed and appealed at the sight; just as he deducted the guy had a lean yet well built frame but the sight was tarnished by some seriously painful looking bruises all over his torso. He gently ran a hand over the boy’s battered abdomen.  
  
“What did those animals do to you?” Gallant asked with genuine concern.  
  
Michael looked at the hairdresser with remorse, Gallant could tell he still felt guilty over something. “The officer at the interrogation room… he wanted answers and I told him everything I saw but he didn’t believe me. He began punching and kicking me till he got what he wanted but I couldn’t tell him anything else.”  
  
“Wait, interrogation room?” Gallant asked dumbfounded. “So they actually took you in?”  
  
The hairstylist’s blood grew cold, did he just take in an escaped convict? Was he now complicit on whatever crime the guy did? He involuntarily began taking his distance. _Of course I couldn’t take the time do pull a background check, what if he’s one of those weirdos that makes lamps out of human skin._

“Wait, please don’t be scared.” Michael pleaded. “It’s not what you think…”  
  
“Well would you mind enlightening me then?” The stylist snapped.  
  
Michael gave Gallant one of his now signature sad puppy eyes but the stylist, for once, wasn’t falling for it and the younger man seemed to notice. “We were at the food market, the butcher was being extremely rude…” The furniture in the room began lightly trembling, Michael’s eyes grew teary. “Ever since she took me in we’ve dealt with people like that, they fear what they deem ‘different’ from them and just attack us, I’m sick of it!”  
  
The hairdresser noticed the change in tone, the formerly coy and reserved voice shifted into a petulant, resentful one.  
  
“She’s never hurt anyone and now she’s detained because of some stupid freak accident!” Michael yelled, the furniture was now more than certainly shaking and clattering against the surface. “It’s not fair!”  
  
Gallant got on his feet as soon as he noticed the whole room shaking. “Did you feel that?” The younger man’s building rage ceased and with it so did the small tremor. The hairstylist noticed the blood coming out of Michael’s nostrils, he looked at him astonished.  
  
The hint of angry confidence banished from his face and the scared boy from the alley returned. “I’m sorry, I… I really should leave.”  
  
“No, stop.” The stylist said while taking a seat next to him. “Look, I’m just being paranoid that’s all. I’m also being a huge hypocrite, I really shouldn’t have judge you based on whatever those assholes think you did. I’ve had my fair share of altercations with the law.”  
  
Michael looked at the hairstylist reassuringly. “Kinder spirits are scarce yet valuable.”  
  
Gallant snickered. “What self-help book did you get that quote from?” Both men chuckled, the hairstylist managed another peak at Michael’s bruises before whipping the trail of blood from his nose. “I still need to finish wrapping you up.”  
  
Michael complied while Gallant proceeded to wrap as much of his battered body in gauze. By the end of it, the younger man looked like a makeshift Halloween mummy costume but no bruised skin remained exposed.  
  
“Looks like we’re done.” Gallant reaffirmed proudly before taking a deep yawn. “It’s kinda late thought.”  
  
“Right…” Michael agreed while putting his shirt back on.  
  
“Take the bed,” Gallant insisted. “I’ll sleep on the recliner.”  
  
Michael looked on as his roommate took one of the blankets towards the recliner chair. “I don’t mind sharing.”  
  
The stylist turned towards him. “No I mean it, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything-“  
  
“You won’t,” Michael insisted. “It’ll… don’t make fun of me but I feel safe near you…”  
  
The comment caught Gallant off-guard, he slowly walked towards Michael. “How so?”  
  
“I don’t know, it’s just… a gut feeling I guess.” The young man added. “You’ve been honest with me, as sad as it sounds that something I’m not used get from people.”  
  
Gallant grinned at the boy’s honesty. “Guess you weren’t kidding when you said we were kinder spirits.”  
  
It took a couple minutes but soon both men managed to get in a comfortable enough position on the relatively small queen sized bed. Last thing Mr. Gallant recalled was Michael sleep talking a couple times, the words coming out of his mouth not really making much sense, and a brief moment when the younger man unknowingly turned to embrace the hairstylist in his sleep.  
  
Although not the physical contact he expected, it surely made him feel affection towards the guy sleeping right next to him in a way casual sex just couldn’t. The guy was as pure as they came, there was something endearing of someone as old as Michael acting the way he did. In a way, he felt he gave back the feeling of safety he said the stylist brought onto him. For the first time in what felt like years, Gallant managed to fall asleep with a smile of true joy on his face.

The morning after, Gallant woke up alone on the room with vague recollections of what happened the day prior. The only solid evidence of anything was a lone hand written note on the nightstand that read: 'Thank you for your kindness, I'll repay you someday, - M'.

* * *

  
**_Outpost 3, 2021_**  
  
Vitalum Vitalis, the balancing of scales between life and death. Not all witches managed to master the art of breathing life back into the dead but to a Supreme that was mere child’s play. As soon as Cordelia passed some of her life-force towards the hairstylist’s corpse, the results were imminent.  
  
A loud grasp of breath filled the room as soon as the previously deceased man got up. The sudden reanimation took a toll on him but it didn’t take his attention from the numerous women staring his way.  
  
“What happened?” The stylist asked as soon as he got a slight grasp of his senses. “Who are you people?” Gallant swiftly scanned the room until he located both Coco and Mallory. “Do you know them?”  
  
“Mr. Gallant,” Cordelia began. “I know these aren’t the best of circumstances but I’d like you to know first and foremost that we’re on the same side.”  
  
Gallant turned towards Coco who quickly nodded in agreement. “Who are you though?”  
  
“My name’s Cordelia Goode, these are my accomplices Myrtle Snow and Madison Montgomery.” The Supreme witch added while gesturing to the other two women besides her. “I presume you’re well acquainted with the rest of the ladies in our presence.”  
  
“Hold up, I know you,” Gallant exclaimed while keeping his sights fixed on Madison. “Ain’t you that ‘Parent Trap’ bitch?”  
  
The former actress turned towards the Supreme. “You might wanna keep him in line before I snap his neck.”  
  
Cordelia sighed while keeping composure. “You died Mr. Gallant. I know that might sound out of the realm of possibilities but you were brought back for a reason. I scanned through your memories and you might be just what we need to bring down Michael Langdon and restore order to the world.”  
  
“I hate to break it to you lady but the world kinda went to shit a while ago,” the stylist replied. “And why me anyways?”  
  
“Because you have something the rest of us don’t over our common enemy,” The Supreme reached her hand towards the hairdresser’s forehead. In a flash, all the plethora of memories that had been tampered with by Langdon returned to him. “Emotional leverage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I wanna thank everyone for the support on the first chapter. I originally intended to make this a three-parter but wasn't sure as I struggled finishing the first one but the power of validation made want to keep the original concept going. This one's kind of a doozy as I wanted to explore pre-evil Michael a bit but next chapter will keep the steam going. Your comments made me the happiest person ever so I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you guys too much.
> 
> P.S. In case anyone's wondering, Cordelia went through many more memories than the one I wrote while scanning through Gallant's mind.


	3. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like previous chapters, grammar might be a bit off but I'll double check it as soon as I can. Enjoy!

_**Los Angeles, 2012**_  
  
The study room remained as quiet as ever, it had been a while since Ben Harmon had a session with brunette boy seating in front of him. Reencounters with patients were always slightly more awkward than first timers.  
  
The boy remained almost unchanged: his outfits still consisted of a knitted sweater vests over a dress shirt and a pair of khakis, all in a muted colour palette of browns and beiges. His long, luscious hair tied up in a perfectly pristine bun. Even his soft-spoken demeanour remained just as it did last time they met for a therapy session.  
  
“I’m glad to see you back Co-“  
  
“Dr. Harmon,” the boy intruded. “Sorry for interrupting but… could you please just refer to me by my last name?”  
  
The older man looked at his patient confused but with enough reassurance to not make him feel judged. “Uh, sure. Would you mind me asking why, though?”  
  
“It’s just… there’s too much baggage attached to my given name.” He replied back meekly. “I want to disassociate myself from all that.”  
  
The psychiatrist gave some though to the whole situation before speaking, he knew choosing the wrong words would probably close the boy from further discussion on the matter. “I see… well, uh, Gallant?” The boy nodded. “Look, I might not be as acquainted with your current situation considering it’s been months since we’ve seen each other but I personally feel like alienating your identity might not be the best coping mechanism.”  
  
The boy looked like he’d just been scolded, Ben wrote some observations on his notepad while waiting for a response that didn’t come. He looked back at his patient who remained seated while exhibiting the most obvious signs of nervousness the psychiatrist had seen in a long time.  
  
“Something’s obviously bothering you, please don’t keep it to yourself.” Ben insisted. “Remember why you’re here.”  
  
“It’s just… it’s just that-,” Gallant commenced, his voice breaking. Ben tried his best to remain stoic though the eventual outpour of emotions his patients was about to launch at him. After years of dealing with some of the most unreal situations only a city as crazy as L.A. could offer, the psychiatrist had developed a knack for foreseeing his patients reactions. Just as predicted, the boy couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.  
  
“I’ve been nothing but good with her! She’s making my life miserable and there’s nothing I can do about it!”  
  
Ben grabbed the box of tissues on the table between his chair and the couch where his patient sat and proceeded to take a seat next to the younger man. He offered him a tissue, which the sobbing boy proceeded to accept. The psychiatrist proceeded to rub Gallant’s shoulder.  
  
“You know I’m not much of a personal space kind of guy Gallant, so please take this as a reminder that this is a safe space,” Dr. Harmon insisted. “I’m here to help you but only if you let me.”  
  
The younger man weakly nodded while trying his best to contain his emotions. “I-I’m sorry Dr. Harmon…”  
  
“Don’t be, it’s pretty rough to let go of one’s emotions without letting them show once or twice. What you just did was pretty brave,” The psychiatrist reassured. “Showcasing vulnerability is one of the hardest things for us humans.”  
  
Gallant couldn’t help himself from smiling a bit at the compliment. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”  
  
“Not at all, I mean, if it did I’m glad but it’s also the truth,” Ben replied back. “I’m not here to gloss things over. Now, would you mind if we start this over?”  
  
Ben returned to his initial seat as Gallant whipped his eyes with the tissue one last time before complying. “Sure.”  
What followed was the usual: catching up, awkward small talk and cracking a couple lame jokes to keep the conversation from getting too serious. Gallant’s demeanour eased with each minute but Ben knew that there wasn’t going to be any progress if they didn’t take the chance to talk about the root of the problem.  
  
“So how’s Evelyn?” He popped the question as the boy’s face tensed. He knew he hit a nerve but otherwise they’d be just rambling about the weather.  
  
“She’s alright…” Gallant responded. “Still trying to deal with the whole situation I guess.”  
  
Ben sighed, he felt for the kid. “Your sexuality is not a situation, don’t let her stance on the matter make you think otherwise.” Gallant nodded yet Ben knew he did it out of habit rather than honesty. “Have any meaningful conversations happened?”  
  
“Not really, she’s not thrilled about beauty school but she’d rather that than having me relapse.” He answered, Ben nodded in agreement.  
  
“The progress we made with your… problem with substances has been one of the quickest, that just goes to show how much willpower you have.” The doctor reassured him. “Not many people manage to get back from the brink as quickly as you did, let alone pull it of all together.”  
  
“Can I be honest with you Dr. Harmon?” Gallant replied sombrely. “Sometimes I wish I just I’d just OD’ed, it would have been easier…”  
  
Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I try to keep my relationship with patients as professional as possible but I’ve already broke my personal space policy with you so I might as well tell you this, never say shit like that again.”  
  
The fragile boy was caught of guard buy the psychiatrist’s sudden showcase of emotion. He wasn’t trying to get a reaction out of him but he didn’t expect him to get as flustered as he did by the comment.  
  
“I’m telling you this not as your psychiatrist but as a father. My daughter… I lost her once. Unlike most people, I managed to get a second chance at having as close a life as our situation allowed us to have and I appreciate it every second of it.” Ben continued, the hurt in his voice sent shivers down Gallant’s spine. “She overdosed on sleeping pills in hopes to get rid of the pain. I was lucky to get her back and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else go down that rabbit hole.”  
  
The boy twiddled his fingers in remorse, last thing he wanted was to get his own shrink into the same dour mood he was in but he figured it was just a side effect of spending too much time with the likes of him. “I… I didn’t know, I’m sorry Dr. Harmon.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Ben insisted while trying to regain composure. “I wanted to share that with you not to guilt you into anything but to let you know that even if you can’t see it, you’re worth a lot to someone even if that someone isn’t the best at expressing it.”  
  
Gallant nodded as his doctor got up from his chair. He’d figure that was as much progress as he’d get out of the boy without getting into more sensible territories than the ones they’ve just dwelled upon.  
  
“Would you mind if I walk out a bit just to catch my breath? I didn’t expect to get in as deep as we did on our first session right of the bat,” Ben said while Gallant yielded. “I know we still have a couple minutes before our time’s up but I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it Dr. Harmon…” Gallant replied shyly.  
  
The psychiatrist walked out the door leaving the boy alone in the study. Gallant took the time to analyze his surroundings, he’d heard a couple stories about Dr. Harmon’s home; although not an actual landmark, people talked about the so-called ‘Murder House’ and all the horrible things that supposedly happened inside yet the place seemed like any other Victorian inspired house in Los Angeles. The stained glass decals on the windows caught this eye, it gave the fairly modernized study room a classical hue.  
  
As he continued to scan the room the boy’s eyes feel on the manila folder on Dr. Harmon’s desk, his psyche file. In an almost mechanical motion, Gallant slowly walked towards it. He knew Dr. Harmon, as patient and understanding as he appeared, kept several details from him. He’d probably not get another chance at it so he figure just a peek would hurt nobody.  
  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” A voice from behind exclaimed. Gallant felt his body freeze on it’s tracks, he swore he heard no one entering the room yet the unfamiliar voice was undeniably close. He slowly turned around to meet face to face with a boy who appeared to be roughly around his age if not slightly younger. “I tried that once, didn’t like what I found out.”  
  
“W-who are you?” Gallant asked, the tremble in his voice seemingly amusing his companion.  
  
“Name’s Tate,” the boy replied extending his hand towards Gallant. “I’m dead.”  
  
The lack of irony in his tone was almost comical to the beauty school student. He approached him before shaking hands. “I’m Gallant, I wish I was.”  
  
“Nice,” Tate added, he beamed towards Gallant with an award winning smile. The older boy couldn’t deny there was a certain charm to him. “Is that your actual name or…?”  
  
“Surname,” Gallant responded. “I’m trying to keep the past as buried as possible, name and all.”  
  
Tate smirked, “Wait, Gallant like the soap opera actress?”  
  
The older boy cringed a bit at the mention. “Yeah…”  
  
“That’s wild, my mom was a huge fan back in the day,” Tate replied. “To bad the old cunt left the city a while back, she’d probably harass the hell out of you for an invite to her house.”  
  
“Believe me, Nana’s not as pleasant as she appeared on TV.” Gallant replied.  
  
“Pleasant? Wasn’t she the villain?” Tate asked confused.  
  
“Exactly.” Gallant retorted, the younger boy snorted at the comment.  
  
“Well looks like we both got the classic problem of ‘old bitch with a stick up her ass’ don't we?” Tate added. “Word of advice, it’s not an easy annoyance to get rid of.”  
  
Gallant chuckled as Tate circled around him, examining every inch of the boy right in front of him. In the blink of an eye, Tate appeared sitting on top of Dr. Harmon’s desk, Gallant’s psyche file on hand.  
  
“Hey! I thought you said-“  
  
“I said I didn’t recommend _you_ to do it,” Tate interrupted while skimming through the folder. “I’m all up for knowing more about you though.” Gallant raised a brow in intrigue, the guy sure had a charm to him yet he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Substance abuse, depressive episodes, mommy issues… I feel like I’m reading my own file here.”  
  
“Not what you were expecting?” Gallant replied with an odd confidence.  
  
Tate continued scanning through the file, a mischievous smile began forming on his lips. “Well look at this, one year of bible camp followed by two of conversion camp… looks like granny’s not too happy with you, huh?”  
  
The moment of confidence faded away as soon as Tate’s words hit him. Nana Evie’s effort to literally exorcise the gay away were distant yet powerful memories, last thing he needed was some asshole mocking him about it.  
  
“Aw, come on pretty boy don’t get mad,” Tate said. “I’m just fucking with you.”  
  
Gallant tried his best not to flip the guy off. “Put the file down and I’ll believe you.”  
  
Tate did as instructed, “Any more requests?” Gallant shook his head, Tate proceeded to get off the desk and walk towards the future beautician. “Well, I have one.”  
  
Tate proceeded to approach Gallant in an alluring yet aggressive motion. The older guy felt his skin warming up, Tate noticed the forming blush in the beauty school student’s cheeks. The wicked smile on the younger guy’s face sent chills down Gallant’s spine.  
  
“My, my, my… looks like we’ve got company,” Tate added while eying the forming bulge on Gallant’s crotch. The older boy felt himself getting warmer and warmer, he tried his best to keep the feeling from taking over but Tate’s bedroom eyes made it harder. “Don’t feel ashamed, pretty boy it’s only natural.”  
  
Gallant’s breathing grew heavy with every step Tate took towards him. He hated how easily he succumbed to a pretty face but there was no stopping the younger boy now that he knew how much leverage he held over Gallant.  
  
“As for that request of mine,” Tate began before finally pinning Gallant on the couch. “I just want to know one thing.” He said before slowly kissing the older man’s neck, Gallant felt his body finally loosen up in it’s totality. Tate proceeded to whisper his question into Gallant’s ear. “What turns you on?”  
  
The question made Gallant melt, he’d never been this close to a guy before yet every step Tate took felt like the natural progression this was supposed to take. Gallant didn’t want to make a wrong move but decided to take a risk by unbuttoning the black, knee length trench coat covering Tate’s body.  
  
“Going straight for it, huh?” Tate asked mockingly, he proceeded to undo Gallant’s perfectly styled bun. The older boy’s hair rested well above his chest, Tate smirked at the sight. “That’s some real pretty hair you’ve got there princess, maybe if you took half the amount of care on your emotional wellbeing rather than on your hair life wouldn’t suck as much.”  
  
The comment felt like a splash of cold watered reality falling on him, had Tate not proceeded to lock lips with Gallant, the future beautician would have stopped on his tracks. He proceeded to unbutton what remained of the trench coat covering the boy’s body.  
  
“Also a piece of advice, I’m not much of a fashion expert but this whole frumpy style you’ve got going on isn’t doing you any favours,” Tate added. “I know you’re doing it to please granny but from what I managed to read on that file of yours, she’s not worthy of your obedience.”  
  
Tate proceeded to remove the undone coat of his body to reveal a black, skintight rubber suit. The sight managed to exhilarate Gallant’s already stimulated libido into unimaginable levels, he felt his crotch ache in anticipation as the younger looking man approached him.  
  
“I on the other hand…” Tate began as he pinned the older boy back into the couch. “Close your eyes pretty boy, I’ll make sure to do this as quick and painless as possible.”  
  
Tate’s hands wrapped around Gallant’s throat. Although the pressure felt pleasant and arousing at first, the younger boy’s grip on his neck became stronger and stronger. For a split of a second Gallant could have sworn Tate’s eyes began turning as pitch black as the rubber suit covering his body.  
  
Although Gallant’s vision became hazier as Tate proceeded to strangle him, the undeniable sound of an opening door cut the action short.  
  
“Get the hell off of him!” Dr. Harmon yelled as he shoved Tate off the way. The younger man landed head first against the wooden floor as the psychiatrist began looking for a pulse on Gallant’s chest.  
  
“Hey Ben, long time no see,” Tate responded almost unfazed while getting up from the floor. “How’s Violet?”  
  
The psychiatrist eyes shot daggers at the mention of his daughter. “Say her name one more time and I’ll make sure this time you actually stay dead.”  
  
Tate whipped the lone trail of blood coming out of one of his nostrils, an effect from the previous impact. “No need to get violent Mr. Harmon, your little fag and I were just having a bit of fun.”  
  
“Get the fuck out of here Tate,” Ben began. “Go away!”  
  
Last thing Gallant could recall before fainting was Tate’s figure fading away.  
  
————  
  
Gallant managed to wake up, his throat still aching after the excessive pressure imposed into it. As soon as he regained consciousness he noticed Dr. Harmon walking his way.  
  
“Thank god…” The psychiatrist exclaimed. “How’s your head?”  
  
“No complaints yet,” Gallant replied jokingly.  
  
Ben couldn’t help but smile at his attempt of humor. “Glad to know.”  
  
“Is he gone?” Gallant asked cautiously.  
  
Ben nodded. “He is, don’t worry about it.”  
  
Gallant managed to sit back up on the couch. “How long have I’ve been out?”  
  
“Not much, an hour at most.” Ben replied. “Are you capable of walking?”  
  
“I think so, yeah.” Gallant answered.  
  
“Good, I need you to leave this place as soon as possible.” Ben replied. “This will be our last session, Mr. Gallant.”  
  
“Wait, why?” The younger man asked.  
  
“You’re at risk here,” Ben began. “I can recommend you another psychiatrists around the area but I’m afraid my time as yours is over.”  
  
The sudden rush of information caught Gallant off guard yet he didn’t dare ask any questions. Ben proceeded to give him a piece of paper with a couple phone numbers and names.  
  
“Whatever you do, don’t come near this house again.” Ben announced while leading the younger boy towards the front door. “If you do I can’t guarantee you’ll be as lucky as you were this time.”  
  
Before being able to say goodbye, Dr. Harmon closed the door. Gallant remained staring at the entrance of the Murder House, a chilling wind running through the porch. As he proceeded to walk off the property, he couldn’t help but turn back one towards the building one last time.  
  
“That place is one of the worst things this city has to offer,” a woman’s voice said. Gallant quickly turned towards the source of said voice, an blonde, older woman with a commanding presence. She carried a stroller with what appeared to be a kid not older than three years old, the kid kept it’s sight fixed on the boy. “If you have half a brain cell you should stay as far away from it as humanly possible.”  
  
Gallant froze at the comment. “Uh-“  
  
“Michael and I need to get going but keep what I said in mind if you know what's good for you.” The woman proceeded to pushed the stroller and walked past Gallant.  


* * *

  
_**Outpost 3, 2021**_  
  
“So he knows?” Madison asked dumbfounded.  
  
“Not exactly,” Cordelia replied. “He’s had contact with the darkness yet I’m not sure he’s aware of his role in all of this.”  
  
“Well someone’s gotta tell him,” Madison retorted. “I’m not risking our only chance of stopping that psycho from burning what’s left of us down.”  
  
“We will in due time,” Cordelia reassured the younger witch. “In the meantime I need to get back with Mallory. I’m entrusting you with keeping him safe for as long as we need to get Mallory prepared to face Michael.”  
  
The former actress looked at the Supreme in disbelief. “Not to rush things Delia but we’ve got literally an hour at most. I’m positive a cloaking charm isn’t enough to keep Langdon off our tracks for long.”  
  
“We’ll try our best Madison, in the meantime do all that’s in your power to keep him from harms way. To Michael he might be nothing more than a chewing toy but underneath it all he still brought him here for a reason.” Cordelia added.  
  
“Fine, just try to make it quick okay?” The young witch replied, Cordelia nodded before teleporting out of sight. Madison huffed and proceeded to enter Gallant’s room, once in she enchanted the lock on the door. “Here goes nothing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to everyone for the huge support this has gotten. I know I said this was gonna be a three-parter but I thought about including the Murder House plot-line in some way and decided to add another chapter (and maybe an epilogue if you guys want) but next one's definitively the last one.
> 
> Your comments are really the fuel that keeps this story going and I can't thank you enough for them. I feel like this chapter might be a mixed bag mostly because I missed writing confident, catty Gallant but I kinda wanted to dwell into his past a bit more (considering he's still DEAD on the show) and even though I couldn't cover as much as I wanted I'm happy with what I managed but regardless let me know what you guys think so far.
> 
> P.S. I know both Tate and Gallant look similar but I remember reading an interview somewhere that said characters played by the same actors don't actually look like one another to the rest of the AHS characters so I'm rolling with it.


End file.
